If I might see another SpringI'd not plant summer flowers and wait:I'd have my crocuses at once,My leafless pink mezereons,My chill-veined snowdrops, choicer yetMy white or azure violet,Leaf-nested primrose; anythingTo blow at once, not late.
If I might see another SpringI'd listen to the daylight birds 10That build their nests and pair and sing,Nor wait for mateless nightingale;I'd listen to the lusty herds,The ewes with lambs as white as snow,I'd find out music in the hailAnd all the winds that blow.
If I might see another Spring—Oh stinging comment on my pastThat all my past results in 'if'—If I might see another Spring 20I'd laugh to-day, to-day is brief;I would not wait for anything:I'd use to-day that cannot last,Be glad to-day and sing.
Strike the bells wantonly,Tinkle tinkle well;Bring me wine, bring me flowers,Ring the silver bell.All my lamps burn scented oil,Hung on laden orange-trees,Whose shadowed foliage is the foilTo golden lamps and oranges.Heap my golden plates with fruit,Golden fruit, fresh-plucked and ripe; 10Strike the bells and breathe the pipe;Shut out showers from summer hours—Silence that complaining lute—Shut out thinking, shut out pain,From hours that cannot come again.
Strike the bells solemnly,Ding dong deep:My friend is passing to his bed,Fast asleep;There's plaited linen round his head, 20While foremost go his feet—His feet that cannot carry him.My feast's a show, my lights are dim;Be still, your music is not sweet,—There is no music more for him:His lights are out, his feast is done;His bowl that sparkled to the brimIs drained, is broken, cannot hold;My blood is chill, his blood is cold;His death is full, and mine begun. 30
A blue-eyed phantom far beforeIs laughing, leaping toward the sun:Like lead I chase it evermore,I pant and run.
It breaks the sunlight bound on bound:Goes singing as it leaps alongTo sheep-bells with a dreamy soundA dreamy song.
I laugh, it is so brisk and gay;It is so far before, I weep: 10I hope I shall lie down some day,Lie down and sleep.
I never said I loved you, John:Why will you tease me day by day,And wax a weariness to think uponWith always 'do' and 'pray'?
You know I never loved you, John;No fault of mine made me your toast:Why will you haunt me with a face as wanAs shows an hour-old ghost?
I dare say Meg or Moll would takePity upon you, if you'd ask: 10And pray don't remain single for my sakeWho can't perform that task.
I have no heart?—Perhaps I have not;But then you're mad to take offenceThat I don't give you what I have not got:Use your own common sense.
Let bygones be bygones:Don't call me false, who owed not to be true:I'd rather answer 'No' to fifty JohnsThan answer 'Yes' to you. 20
Let's mar our pleasant days no more,Song-birds of passage, days of youth:Catch at to-day, forget the days before:I'll wink at your untruth.
Let us strike hands as hearty friends;No more, no less; and friendship's good:Only don't keep in view ulterior ends,And points not understood
In open treaty. Rise aboveQuibbles and shuffling off and on: 30Here's friendship for you if you like; but love,—No, thank you, John.
I cannot tell you how it was;But this I know: it came to passUpon a bright and breezy dayWhen May was young; ah, pleasant May!As yet the poppies were not bornBetween the blades of tender corn;The last eggs had not hatched as yet,Nor any bird forgone its mate.
I cannot tell you what it was;But this I know: it did but pass. 10It passed away with sunny May,With all sweet things it passed away,And left me old, and cold, and grey.
I looked for that which is not, nor can be,And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth:But years must pass before a hope of youthIs resigned utterly.
I watched and waited with a steadfast will:And though the object seemed to flee awayThat I so longed for, ever day by dayI watched and waited still.
Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more;My expectation wearies and shall cease; 10I will resign it now and be at peace:Yet never gave it o'er.
Sometimes I said: It is an empty nameI long for; to a name why should I giveThe peace of all the days I have to live?—Yet gave it all the same.
Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfitFor healthy joy and salutary pain:Thou knowest the chase useless, and againTurnest to follow it. 20
Oh, pleasant eventide!Clouds on the western sideGrow grey and greyer hiding the warm sun:The bees and birds, their happy labours done,Seek their close nests and bide.
Screened in the leafy woodThe stock-doves sit and brood:The very squirrel leaps from bough to boughBut lazily; pauses; and settles nowWhere once he stored his food. 10
One by one the flowers close,Lily and dewy roseShutting their tender petals from the moon:The grasshoppers are still; but not so soonAre still the noisy crows.
The dormouse squats and eatsChoice little dainty bitsBeneath the spreading roots of a broad lime;Nibbling his fill he stops from time to timeAnd listens where he sits. 20
From far the lowings comeOf cattle driven home:From farther still the wind brings fitfullyThe vast continual murmur of the sea,Now loud, now almost dumb.
The gnats whirl in the air,The evening gnats; and thereThe owl opes broad his eyes and wings to sailFor prey; the bat wakes; and the shell-less snailComes forth, clammy and bare. 30
Hark! that's the nightingale,Telling the selfsame taleHer song told when this ancient earth was young:So echoes answered when her song was sungIn the first wooded vale.
We call it love and painThe passion of her strain;And yet we little understand or know:Why should it not be rather joy that soThrobs in each throbbing vein? 40
In separate herds the deerLie; here the bucks, and hereThe does, and by its mother sleeps the fawn:Through all the hours of night until the dawnThey sleep, forgetting fear.
The hare sleeps where it lies,With wary half-closed eyes;The cock has ceased to crow, the hen to cluck:Only the fox is out, some heedless duckOr chicken to surprise. 50
Remote, each single starComes out, till there they areAll shining brightly: how the dews fall damp!While close at hand the glow-worm lights her lampOr twinkles from afar.
But evening now is doneAs much as if the sunDay-giving had arisen in the East:For night has come; and the great calm has ceased,The quiet sands have run. 60
Pardon the faults in me,For the love of years ago:Good-bye.I must drift across the sea,I must sink into the snow,I must die.
You can bask in this sun,You can drink wine, and eat:Good-bye.I must gird myself and run, 10Though with unready feet:I must die.
Blank sea to sail upon,Cold bed to sleep in:Good-bye.While you clasp, I must be goneFor all your weeping:I must die.
A kiss for one friend,And a word for two,— 20Good-bye:—A lock that you must send,A kindness you must do:I must die.
Not a word for you,Not a lock or kiss,Good-bye.We, one, must part in two;Verily death is this:I must die. 30
'A cup for hope!' she said,In springtime ere the bloom was old:The crimson wine was poor and coldBy her mouth's richer red.
'A cup for love!' how low,How soft the words; and all the whileHer blush was rippling with a smileLike summer after snow.
'A cup for memory!'Cold cup that one must drain alone: 10While autumn winds are up and moanAcross the barren sea.
Hope, memory, love:Hope for fair morn, and love for day,And memory for the evening greyAnd solitary dove.
The hope I dreamed of was a dream,Was but a dream; and now I wake,Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,For a dream's sake.
I hang my harp upon a tree,A weeping willow in a lake;I hang my silent harp there, wrung and snaptFor a dream's sake.
Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;My silent heart, lie still and break: 10Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changedFor a dream's sake.
The door was shut. I looked betweenIts iron bars; and saw it lie,My garden, mine, beneath the sky,Pied with all flowers bedewed and green:
From bough to bough the song-birds crossed,From flower to flower the moths and bees;With all its nests and stately treesIt had been mine, and it was lost.
A shadowless spirit kept the gate,Blank and unchanging like the grave. 10I peering through said: 'Let me haveSome buds to cheer my outcast state.'
He answered not. 'Or give me, then,But one small twig from shrub or tree;And bid my home remember meUntil I come to it again.'
The spirit was silent; but he tookMortar and stone to build a wall;He left no loophole great or smallThrough which my straining eyes might look: 20
So now I sit here quite aloneBlinded with tears; nor grieve for that,For nought is left worth looking atSince my delightful land is gone.
A violet bed is budding near,Wherein a lark has made her nest:And good they are, but not the best;And dear they are, but not so dear.
Some are laughing, some are weeping;She is sleeping, only sleeping.Round her rest wild flowers are creeping;There the wind is heaping, heapingSweetest sweets of Summer's keeping.By the corn-fields ripe for reaping.
There are lilies, and there blushesThe deep rose, and there the thrushesSing till latest sunlight flushesIn the west; a fresh wind brushes 10Through the leaves while evening hushes.
There by day the lark is singingAnd the grass and weeds are springing;There by night the bat is winging;There for ever winds are bringingFar-off chimes of church-bells ringing.
Night and morning, noon and even,Their sound fills her dreams with Heaven:The long strife at lent is striven:Till her grave-bands shall be riven 20Such is the good portion givenTo her soul at rest and shriven.
She sat and sang alwayBy the green margin of a stream,Watching the fishes leap and playBeneath the glad sunbeam.
I sat and wept alwayBeneath the moon's most shadowy beam,Watching the blossoms of the MayWeep leaves into the stream.
I wept for memory;She sang for hope that is so fair: 10My tears were swallowed by the sea;Her songs died on the air.
When I am dead, my dearest,Sing no sad songs for me;Plant thou no roses at my head,Nor shady cypress tree:Be the green grass above meWith showers and dewdrops wet;And if thou wilt, remember,And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,I shall not feel the rain; 10I shall not hear the nightingaleSing on, as if in pain:And dreaming through the twilightThat doth not rise nor set,Haply I may remember,And haply may forget.
Sonnet
Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold,With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes:Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise;Thiswas the promise of the days of old!Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould,Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies:We hoped for better things as years would rise,But it is over as a tale once told.All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore,All lost the present and the future time,All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before:So lost till death shut-to the opened door,So lost from chime to everlasting chime,So cold and lost for ever evermore.
Summer is gone with all its roses,Its sun and perfumes and sweet flowers,Its warm air and refreshing showers:And even Autumn closes.
Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going,And winter comes which is yet colder;Each day the hoar-frost waxes bolder,And the last buds cease blowing.
Who told my mother of my shame,Who told my father of my dear?Oh who but Maude, my sister Maude,Who lurked to spy and peer.
Cold he lies, as cold as stone,With his clotted curls about his face:The comeliest corpse in all the worldAnd worthy of a queen's embrace.
You might have spared his soul, sister,Have spared my soul, your own soul too: 10Though I had not been born at all,He'd never have looked at you.
My father may sleep in Paradise,My mother at Heaven-gate:But sister Maude shall get no sleepEither early or late.
My father may wear a golden gown,My mother a crown may win;If my dear and I knocked at Heaven-gatePerhaps they'd let us in: 20But sister Maude, oh sister Maude,Bideyouwith death and sin.
Sonnet
O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth;Lie close around her; leave no room for mirthWith its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs.She hath no questions, she hath no replies,Hushed in and curtained with a blessèd dearthOf all that irked her from the hour of birth;With stillness that is almost Paradise.Darkness more clear than noon-day holdeth her,Silence more musical than any song;Even her very heart has ceased to stir:Until the morning of EternityHer rest shall not begin nor end, but be;And when she wakes she will not think it long.
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sunAnd crocus fires are kindling one by one:Sing, robin, sing;I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this yearWill bring another Spring both lost and dear;If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,Or if the world alone will bud and sing: 10Sing, hope, to me;Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,Or in this world, or in the world to come:Sing, voice of Spring,Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
There's blood between us, love, my love,There's father's blood, there's brother's blood;And blood's a bar I cannot pass:I choose the stairs that mount above,Stair after golden skyward stair,To city and to sea of glass.My lily feet are soiled with mud,With scarlet mud which tells a taleOf hope that was, of guilt that was,Of love that shall not yet avail; 10Alas, my heart, if I could bareMy heart, this selfsame stain is there:I seek the sea of glass and fireTo wash the spot, to burn the snare;Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher:Mount with me, mount the kindled stair.
Your eyes look earthward, mine look up.I see the far-off city grand,Beyond the hills a watered land,Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand 20Of mansions where the righteous sup;Who sleep at ease among their trees,Or wake to sing a cadenced hymnWith Cherubim and Seraphim;They bore the Cross, they drained the cup,Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb,They the offscouring of the world:The heaven of starry heavens unfurled,The sun before their face is dim.
You looking earthward what see you? 30Milk-white wine-flushed among the vines,Up and down leaping, to and fro,Most glad, most full, made strong with wines,Blooming as peaches pearled with dew,Their golden windy hair afloat,Love-music warbling in their throat,Young men and women come and go.
You linger, yet the time is short:Flee for your life, gird up your strengthTo flee; the shadows stretched at length 40Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh;Flee to the mountain, tarry not.Is this a time for smile and sigh,For songs among the secret treesWhere sudden blue birds nest and sport?The time is short and yet you stay:To-day while it is called to-dayKneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray;To-day is short, to-morrow nigh:Why will you die? why will you die? 50
You sinned with me a pleasant sin:Repent with me, for I repent.Woe's me the lore I must unlearn!Woe's me that easy way we went,So rugged when I would return!How long until my sleep begin,How long shall stretch these nights and days?Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays;She laves her soul with tedious tears:How long must stretch these years and years? 60
I turn from you my cheeks and eyes,My hair which you shall see no more—Alas for joy that went before,For joy that dies, for love that dies.Only my lips still turn to you,My livid lips that cry, Repent.Oh weary life, oh weary Lent,Oh weary time whose stars are few.
How should I rest in Paradise,Or sit on steps of heaven alone? 70If Saints and Angels spoke of loveShould I not answer from my throne:Have pity upon me, ye my friends,For I have heard the sound thereof:Should I not turn with yearning eyes,Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang?Oh save me from a pang in heaven.By all the gifts we took and gave,Repent, repent, and be forgiven:This life is long, but yet it ends; 80Repent and purge your soul and save:No gladder song the morning starsUpon their birthday morning sangThan Angels sing when one repents.
I tell you what I dreamed last night:A spirit with transfigured faceFire-footed clomb an infinite space.I heard his hundred pinions clang,Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang,Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, 90Worlds spun upon their rushing cars:He mounted shrieking: 'Give me light.'Still light was poured on him, more light;Angels, Archangels he outstrippedExultant in exceeding might,And trod the skirts of Cherubim.Still 'Give me light,' he shrieked; and dippedHis thirsty face, and drank a sea,Athirst with thirst it could not slake.I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take 100From aching brows the aureole crown—His locks writhed like a cloven snake—He left his throne to grovel downAnd lick the dust of Seraphs' feet:For what is knowledge duly weighed?Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet;Yea all the progress he had madeWas but to learn that all is smallSave love, for love is all in all.
I tell you what I dreamed last night: 110It was not dark, it was not light,Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hairThrough clay; you came to seek me there.And 'Do you dream of me?' you said.My heart was dust that used to leapTo you; I answered half asleep:'My pillow is damp, my sheets are red,There's a leaden tester to my bed:Find you a warmer playfellow,A warmer pillow for your head, 120A kinder love to love than mine.'You wrung your hands; while I like leadCrushed downwards through the sodden earth:You smote your hands but not in mirth,And reeled but were not drunk with wine.
For all night long I dreamed of you:I woke and prayed against my will,Then slept to dream of you again.At length I rose and knelt and prayed:I cannot write the words I said, 130My words were slow, my tears were few;But through the dark my silence spokeLike thunder. When this morning broke,My face was pinched, my hair was grey,And frozen blood was on the sillWhere stifling in my struggle I lay.
If now you saw me you would say:Where is the face I used to love?And I would answer: Gone before;It tarries veiled in paradise. 140When once the morning star shall rise,When earth with shadow flees awayAnd we stand safe within the door,Then you shall lift the veil thereof.Look up, rise up: for far aboveOur palms are grown, our place is set;There we shall meet as once we metAnd love with old familiar love.
Does the road wind up-hill all the way?Yes, to the very end.Will the day's journey take the whole long day?From morn to night, my friend.
But is there for the night a resting-place?A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.May not the darkness hide it from my face?You cannot miss that inn.
Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?Those who have gone before. 10Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?They will not keep you standing at that door.
Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?Of labour you shall find the sum.Will there be beds for me and all who seek?Yea, beds for all who come.
I bore with thee long weary days and nights,Through many pangs of heart, through many tears;I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights,For three and thirty years.
Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:Give thou Me love for love.
For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth,For thee I trembled in the nightly frost: 10Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth:Why wilt thou still be lost?
I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced:Men only marked upon My shoulders borneThe branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,Or wagged their heads in scorn.
Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy nameDid thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes:I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame;I, God, Priest, Sacrifice. 20
A thief upon My right hand and My left;Six hours alone, athirst, in misery:At length in death one smote My heart and cleftA hiding-place for thee.
Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of downMore dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep:So did I win a kingdom,—share my crown;A harvest,—come and reap.
I will accept thy will to do and be,Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,Thy will at least to love, that burns withinAnd thirsteth after Me:So will I render fruitful, blessing still,The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,Because thy will cleaves to the better part.—Alas, I cannot will.
Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receiveThe inner unseen longings of the soul, 10I guide them turning towards Me; I controlAnd charm hearts till they grieve:If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;For I have power in earth and heaven above.—I cannot wish, alas!
What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yetI still must strive to win thee and constrain:For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,How then can I forget? 20If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,Nor choose, nor wish,—resign thyself, be stillTill I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.—I do not deprecate.
I have no wit, no words, no tears;My heart within me like a stoneIs numbed too much for hopes or fears.Look right, look left, I dwell alone;I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with griefNo everlasting hills I see;My life is in the falling leaf:O Jesus, quicken me.
My life is like a faded leaf,My harvest dwindled to a husk; 10Truly my life is void and briefAnd tedious in the barren dusk;My life is like a frozen thing,No bud nor greenness can I see:Yet rise it shall—the sap of Spring;O Jesus, rise in me.
My life is like a broken bowl,A broken bowl that cannot holdOne drop of water for my soulOr cordial in the searching cold 20Cast in the fire the perished thing,Melt and remould it, till it beA royal cup for Him my King:O Jesus, drink of me.
This Advent moon shines cold and clear,These Advent nights are long;Our lamps have burned year after yearAnd still their flame is strong.'Watchman, what of the night?' we cry,Heart-sick with hope deferred:'No speaking signs are in the sky,'Is still the watchman's word.
The Porter watches at the gate,The servants watch within; 10The watch is long betimes and late,The prize is slow to win.'Watchman, what of the night?' But stillHis answer sounds the same:'No daybreak tops the utmost hill,Nor pale our lamps of flame.'
One to another hear them speakThe patient virgins wise:'Surely He is not far to seek'—'All night we watch and rise.' 20'The days are evil looking back,The coming days are dim;Yet count we not His promise slack,But watch and wait for Him.'
One with another, soul with soul,They kindle fire from fire:'Friends watch us who have touched the goal.''They urge us, come up higher.''With them shall rest our waysore feet,With them is built our home, 30With Christ.'—'They sweet, but He most sweet,Sweeter than honeycomb.'
There no more parting, no more pain,The distant ones brought near,The lost so long are found again,Long lost but longer dear:Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,Nor heart conceived that rest,With them our good things long deferred,With Jesus Christ our Best. 40
We weep because the night is long,We laugh for day shall rise,We sing a slow contented songAnd knock at Paradise.Weeping we hold Him fast, Who weptFor us, we hold Him fast;And will not let Him go exceptHe bless us first or last.
Weeping we hold Him fast to-night;We will not let Him go 50Till daybreak smite our wearied sightAnd summer smite the snow:Then figs shall bud, and dove with doveShall coo the livelong day;Then He shall say, 'Arise, My love,My fair one, come away.'
'Sweet, thou art pale.''More pale to see,Christ hung upon the cruel treeAnd bore His Father's wrath for me.'
'Sweet, thou art sad.''Beneath a rodMore heavy, Christ for my sake trodThe winepress of the wrath of God.'
'Sweet, thou art weary.''Not so Christ:Whose mighty love of me sufficedFor Strength, Salvation, Eucharist.'
'Sweet, thou art footsore.''If I bleed, 10His feet have bled; yea in my needHis Heart once bled for mine indeed.'
'Sweet, thou art young.''So He was youngWho for my sake in silence hungUpon the Cross with Passion wrung.'
'Look, thou art fair.''He was more fairThan men, Who deigned for me to wearA visage marred beyond compare.'
'And thou hast riches.''Daily bread:All else is His: Who, living, dead, 20For me lacked where to lay His Head.'
'And life is sweet.''It was not soTo Him, Whose Cup did overflowWith mine unutterable woe.'
'Thou drinkest deep.''When Christ would supHe drained the dregs from out my cup:So how should I be lifted up?'
'Thou shalt win Glory.''In the skies,Lord Jesus, cover up mine eyesLest they should look on vanities.' 30
'Thou shalt have Knowledge.''Helpless dust!In Thee, O Lord, I put my trust:Answer Thou for me, Wise and Just.'
'And Might.'—'Get thee behind me. Lord,Who hast redeemed and not abhorredMy soul, oh keep it by Thy Word.'
Sonnet
Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith,All things are vanity. The eye and earCannot be filled with what they see and hear.Like early dew, or like the sudden breathOf wind, or like the grass that withereth,Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear:So little joy hath he, so little cheer,Till all things end in the long dust of death.To-day is still the same as yesterday,To-morrow also even as one of them;And there is nothing new under the sun:Until the ancient race of Time be run,The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem,And morning shall be cold and twilight grey.
'Oh happy happy land!Angels like rushes standAbout the wells of light.'—'Alas, I have not eyes for this fair sight:Hold fast my hand.'—
'As in a soft wind, theyBend all one blessed way,Each bowed in his own glory, star with star.'—'I cannot see so far,Here shadows are.'— 10
'White-winged the cherubim,Yet whiter seraphim,Glow white with intense fire of love.'—'Mine eyes are dim:I look in vain above,And miss their hymn.'—
'Angels, Archangels cryOne to other ceaselessly(I hear them sing)One "Holy, Holy, Holy" to their King.'— 20'I do not hear them, I.'—
'At one side ParadiseIs curtained from the rest,Made green for wearied eyes;Much softer than the breastOf mother-dove clad in a rainbow's dyes.
'All precious souls are thereMost safe, elect by grace,All tears are wiped for ever from their face:Untired in prayer 30They wait and praiseHidden for a little space.
'Boughs of the Living VineThey spread in summer shineGreen leaf with leaf:Sap of the Royal Vine it stirs like wineIn all both less and chief.
'Sing to the Lord,All spirits of all flesh, sing;For He hath not abhorred 40Our low estate nor scorn'd our offering:Shout to our King.'—
'But Zion said:My Lord forgetteth me.Lo, she hath made her bedIn dust; forsaken weepeth sheWhere alien rivers swell the sea.
'She laid her body as the ground,Her tender body as the ground to thoseWho passed; her harpstrings cannot sound 50In a strange land; discrownedShe sits, and drunk with woes.'—
'O drunken not with wine,Whose sins and sorrows have fulfilled the sum,—Be not afraid, arise, be no more dumb;Arise, shine,For thy light is come.'—
'Can these bones live?'—'God knows:The prophet saw such clothed with flesh and skin;A wind blew on them and life entered in; 60They shook and rose.Hasten the time, O Lord, blot out their sin,Let life begin.'
The sweetest blossoms die.And so it was that, going day by dayUnto the church to praise and pray,And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully,I saw how on the graves the flowersShed their fresh leaves in showers,And how their perfume rose up to the skyBefore it passed away.
The youngest blossoms die.They die, and fall and nourish the rich earth 10From which they lately had their birth;Sweet life, but sweeter death that passeth byAnd is as though it had not been:—All colors turn to green:The bright hues vanish, and the odours fly,The grass hath lasting worth.
And youth and beauty die.So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth:Better than beauty and than youthAre Saints and Angels, a glad company; 20And Thou, O lord, our Rest and Ease,Are better far than these.Why should we shrink from our full harvest? whyPrefer to glean with Ruth?
I watched a rosebud very longBrought on by dew and sun and shower,Waiting to see the perfect flower:Then, when I thought it should be strong,It opened at the matin hourAnd fell at evensong.
I watched a nest from day to day,A green nest full of pleasant shade,Wherein three speckled eggs were laid:But when they should have hatched in May, 10The two old birds had grown afraidOr tired, and flew away.
Then in my wrath I broke the boughThat I had tended so with care,Hoping its scent should fill the air;I crushed the eggs, not heeding howTheir ancient promise had been fair:I would have vengeance now.
But the dead branch spoke from the sod,And the eggs answered me again: 20Because we failed dost thou complain?Is thy wrath just? And what if God,Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain,Should also take the rod?
Flowers preach to us if we will hear:—The rose saith in the dewy morn:I am most fair;Yet all my loveliness is bornUpon a thorn.The poppy saith amid the corn:Let but my scarlet head appearAnd I am held in scorn;Yet juice of subtle virtue liesWithin my cup of curious dyes. 10The lilies say: Behold how wePreach without words of purity.The violets whisper from the shadeWhich their own leaves have made:Men scent our fragrance on the air,Yet take no heedOf humble lessons we would read.But not alone the fairest flowers:The merest grassAlong the roadside where we pass, 20Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,Tell of His love who sends the dew,The rain and sunshine too,To nourish one small seed.
Sonnet
By day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair:But all night as the moon so changeth she;Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosyAnd subtle serpents gliding in her hair.By day she woos me to the outer air,Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety:But through the night, a beast she grins at me,A very monster void of love and prayer.By day she stands a lie: by night she standsIn all the naked horror of the truthWith pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.Is this a friend indeed; that I should sellMy soul to her, give her my life and youth,Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell?
I said of laughter: it is vain.Of mirth I said: what profits it?Therefore I found a book, and writTherein how ease and also pain,How health and sickness, every oneIs vanity beneath the sun.
Man walks in a vain shadow; heDisquieteth himself in vain.The things that were shall be again;The rivers do not fill the sea, 10But turn back to their secret source;The winds too turn upon their course.
Our treasures moth and rust corrupt,Or thieves break through and steal, or theyMake themselves wings and fly away.One man made merry as he supped,Nor guessed how when that night grew dim,His soul would be required of him.
We build our houses on the sandComely withoutside and within; 20But when the winds and rains beginTo beat on them, they cannot stand;They perish, quickly overthrown,Loose from the very basement stone.
All things are vanity, I said:Yea vanity of vanities.The rich man dies; and the poor dies:The worm feeds sweetly on the dead.Whate'er thou lackest, keep this trust:All in the end shall have but dust. 30
The one inheritance, which bestAnd worst alike shall find and share:The wicked cease from troubling there,And there the weary are at rest;There all the wisdom of the wiseIs vanity of vanities.
Man flourishes as a green leaf,And as a leaf doth pass away;Or as a shade that cannot stay,And leaves no track, his course is brief: 40Yet doth man hope and fear and planTill he is dead:—oh foolish man!
Our eyes cannot be satisfiedWith seeing, nor our ears be filledWith hearing: yet we plant and buildAnd buy and make our borders wide;We gather wealth, we gather care,But know not who shall be our heir.
Why should we hasten to ariseSo early, and so late take rest? 50Our labour is not good; our bestHopes fade; our heart is stayed on lies:Verily, we sow wind; and weShall reap the whirlwind, verily.
He who hath little shall not lack;He who hath plenty shall decay:Our fathers went; we pass away;Our children follow on our track:So generations fail, and soThey are renewed, and come and go. 60
The earth is fattened with our dead;She swallows more and doth not cease:Therefore her wine and oil increaseAnd her sheaves are not numberèd;Therefore her plants are green, and allHer pleasant trees lusty and tall.
Therefore the maidens cease to sing,And the young men are very sad;Therefore the sowing is not glad,And mournful is the harvesting. 70Of high and low, of great and small,Vanity is the lot of all.
A King dwelt in Jerusalem;He was the wisest man on earth;He had all riches from his birth,And pleasures till he tired of them;Then, having tested all things, heWitnessed that all are vanity.
Sound the deep waters:—Who shall sound that deep?—Too short the plummet,And the watchmen sleep.Some dream of effortUp a toilsome steep;Some dream of pasture groundsFor harmless sheep.
White shapes flit to and froFrom mast to mast; 10They feel the distant tempestThat nears them fast:Great rocks are straight ahead,Great shoals not past;They shout to one anotherUpon the blast.
Oh, soft the streams drop musicBetween the hills,And musical the birds' nestsBeside those rills: 20The nests are types of homeLove-hidden from ills,The nests are types of spiritsLove-music fills.
So dream the sleepers,Each man in his place;The lightning shows the smileUpon each face:The ship is driving, driving,It drives apace: 30And sleepers smile, and spiritsBewail their case.
The lightning glares and reddensAcross the skies;It seems but sunsetTo those sleeping eyes.When did the sun go downOn such a wise?From such a sunsetWhen shall day arise? 40
'Wake,' call the spirits:But to heedless ears:They have forgotten sorrowsAnd hopes and fears;They have forgotten perilsAnd smiles and tears;Their dream has held them long,Long years and years.
'Wake,' call the spirits again:But it would take 50A louder summonsTo bid them awake.Some dream of pleasureFor another's sake;Some dream, forgetfulOf a lifelong ache.
One by one slowly,Ah, how sad and slow!Wailing and prayingThe spirits rise and go: 60Clear stainless spiritsWhite as white as snow;Pale spirits, wailingFor an overthrow.
One by one flitting,Like a mournful birdWhose song is tired at lastFor no mate is heard.The loving voice is silent,The useless word; 70One by one flittingSick with hope deferred.
Driving and driving,The ship drives amain:While swift from mast to mastShapes flit again,Flit silent as the silenceWhere men lie slain;Their shadow cast upon the sailsIs like a stain. 80
No voice to call the sleepers,No hand to raise:They sleep to death in dreaming,Of length of days.Vanity of vanities,The Preacher says:Vanity is the endOf all their ways.
The first was like a dream through summer heat,The second like a tedious numbing swoon,While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beatBeneath a winter moon.
'But,' says my friend, 'what was this thing and where?'It was a pleasure-place within my soul;An earthly paradise supremely fairThat lured me from the goal.
The first part was a tissue of hugged lies;The second was its ruin fraught with pain: 10Why raise the fair delusion to the skiesBut to be dashed again?
My castle stood of white transparent glassGlittering and frail with many a fretted spire,But when the summer sunset came to passIt kindled into fire.
My pleasaunce was an undulating green,Stately with trees whose shadows slept below,With glimpses of smooth garden-beds betweenLike flame or sky or snow. 20
Swift squirrels on the pastures took their ease,With leaping lambs safe from the unfeared knife;All singing-birds rejoicing in those treesFulfilled their careless life.
Woodpigeons cooed there, stockdoves nestled there;My trees were full of songs and flowers and fruit,Their branches spread a city to the airAnd mice lodged in their root.
My heath lay farther off, where lizards livedIn strange metallic mail, just spied and gone; 30Like darted lightnings here and there perceivedBut nowhere dwelt upon.
Frogs and fat toads were there to hop or plodAnd propagate in peace, an uncouth crew,Where velvet-headed rushes rustling nodAnd spill the morning dew.
All caterpillars throve beneath my rule,With snails and slugs in corners out of sight;I never marred the curious sudden stoolThat perfects in a night. 40
Safe in his excavated galleryThe burrowing mole groped on from year to year;No harmless hedgehog curled because of meHis prickly back for fear.
Oft times one like an angel walked with me,With spirit-discerning eyes like flames of fire,But deep as the unfathomed endless sea,Fulfilling my desire:
And sometimes like a snowdrift he was fair,And sometimes like a sunset glorious red, 50And sometimes he had wings to scale the airWith aureole round his head.
We sang our songs together by the way,Calls and recalls and echoes of delight;So communed we together all the day,And so in dreams by night.
I have no words to tell what way we walked.What unforgotten path now closed and sealed;I have no words to tell all things we talked,All things that he revealed: 60
This only can I tell: that hour by hourI waxed more feastful, lifted up and glad;I felt no thorn-prick when I plucked a flower,Felt not my friend was sad.
'To-morrow,' once I said to him with smiles:'To-night,' he answered gravely and was dumb,But pointed out the stones that numbered milesAnd miles to come.
'Not so,' I said: 'to-morrow shall be sweet;To-night is not so sweet as coming days.' 70Then first I saw that he had turned his feet,Had turned from me his face:
Running and flying miles and miles he went,But once looked back to beckon with his handAnd cry: 'Come home, O love, from banishment:Come to the distant land.'
That night destroyed me like an avalanche;One night turned all my summer back to snow:Next morning not a bird upon my branch,Not a lamb woke below,— 80
No bird, no lamb, no living breathing thing;No squirrel scampered on my breezy lawn,No mouse lodged by his hoard: all joys took wingAnd fled before that dawn.
Azure and sun were starved from heaven above,No dew had fallen, but biting frost lay hoar:O love, I knew that I should meet my love,Should find my love no more.
'My love no more,' I muttered stunned with pain:I shed no tear, I wrung no passionate hand, 90Till something whispered: 'You shall meet again,Meet in a distant land.'
Then with a cry like famine I arose,I lit my candle, searched from room to room,Searched up and down; a war of winds that frozeSwept through the blank of gloom.
I searched day after day, night after night;Scant change there came to me of night or day:'No more,' I wailed, 'no more:' and trimmed my light,And gnashed but did not pray, 100
Until my heart broke and my spirit broke:Upon the frost-bound floor I stumbled, fell,And moaned: 'It is enough: withhold the stroke.Farewell, O love, farewell.'
Then life swooned from me. And I heard the songOf spheres and spirits rejoicing over me:One cried: 'Our sister, she hath suffered long.'—One answered: 'Make her see.'—
One cried: 'Oh blessèd she who no more pain,Who no more disappointment shall receive.'— 110One answered: 'Not so: she must live again;Strengthen thou her to live.'
So while I lay entranced a curtain seemedTo shrivel with crackling from before my face;Across mine eyes a waxing radiance beamedAnd showed a certain place.
I saw a vision of a woman, whereNight and new morning strive for domination;Incomparably pale, and almost fair,And sad beyond expression. 120
Her eyes were like some fire-enshrining gem,Were stately like the stars, and yet were tender;Her figure charmed me like a windy stemQuivering and drooped and slender.
I stood upon the outer barren ground,She stood on inner ground that budded flowers;While circling in their never-slackening roundDanced by the mystic hours.
But every flower was lifted on a thorn,And every thorn shot upright from its sands 130To gall her feet; hoarse laughter pealed in scornWith cruel clapping hands.
She bled and wept, yet did not shrink; her strengthWas strung up until daybreak of delight:She measured measureless sorrow toward its length,And breadth, and depth, and height.
Then marked I how a chain sustained her form,A chain of living links not made nor riven:It stretched sheer up through lighting, wind, and storm,And anchored fast in heaven. 140
One cried: 'How long? yet founded on the RockShe shall do battle, suffer, and attain.'—One answered: 'Faith quakes in the tempest shock:Strengthen her soul again.'
I saw a cup sent down and come to herBrimfull of loathing and of bitterness:She drank with livid lips that seemed to stirThe depth, not make it less.
But as she drank I spied a hand distilNew wine and virgin honey; making it 150First bitter-sweet, then sweet indeed, untilShe tasted only sweet.
Her lips and cheeks waxed rosy-fresh and young;Drinking she sang: 'My soul shall nothing want;'And drank anew: while soft a song was sung,A mystical slow chant.
One cried: 'The wounds are faithful of a friend:The wilderness shall blossom as a rose.'—One answered: 'Rend the veil, declare the end,Strengthen her ere she goes.' 160
Then earth and heaven were rolled up like a scroll;Time and space, change and death, had passed away;Weight, number, measure, each had reached its whole;The day had come, that day.
Multitudes—multitudes—stood up in bliss,Made equal to the angels, glorious, fair;With harps, palms, wedding-garments, kiss of peaceAnd crowned and haloed hair.
They sang a song, a new song in the height,Harping with harps to Him Who is Strong and True: 170They drank new wine, their eyes saw with new light,Lo, all things were made new.
Tier beyond tier they rose and rose and roseSo high that it was dreadful, flames with flames:No man could number them, no tongue discloseTheir secret sacred names.
As though one pulse stirred all, one rush of bloodFed all, one breath swept through them myriad-voiced,They struck their harps, cast down their crowns, they stoodAnd worshipped and rejoiced. 180
Each face looked one way like a moon new-lit,Each face looked one way towards its Sun of Love;Drank love and bathed in love and mirrored itAnd knew no end thereof.
Glory touched glory on each blessèd head,Hands locked dear hands never to sunder more:These were the new-begotten from the deadWhom the great birthday bore.
Heart answered heart, soul answered soul at rest,Double against each other, filled, sufficed: 190All loving, loved of all; but loving bestAnd best beloved of Christ.
I saw that one who lost her love in pain,Who trod on thorns, who drank the loathsome cup;The lost in night, in day was found again;The fallen was lifted up.
They stood together in the blessèd noon,They sang together through the length of days;Each loving face bent Sunwards like a moonNew-lit with love and praise. 200
Therefore, O friend, I would not if I mightRebuild my house of lies, wherein I joyedOne time to dwell: my soul shall walk in white,Cast down but not destroyed.
Therefore in patience I possess my soul;Yea, therefore as a flint I set my face,To pluck down, to build up again the whole—But in a distant place.
These thorns are sharp, yet I can tread on them;This cup is loathsome, yet He makes it sweet: 210My face is steadfast toward Jerusalem,My heart remembers it.
I lift the hanging hands, the feeble knees—I, precious more than seven times molten gold—Until the day when from his storehousesGod shall bring new and old;
Beauty for ashes, oil of joy for grief,Garment of praise for spirit of heaviness:Although to-day I fade as doth a leaf,I languish and grow less. 220
Although to-day He prunes my twigs with pain,Yet doth His blood nourish and warm my root:To-morrow I shall put forth buds againAnd clothe myself with fruit.
Although to-day I walk in tedious ways,To-day His staff is turned into a rod,Yet will I wait for Him the appointed daysAnd stay upon my God.